


The Art of Flying

by InTheLoft



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Theon brings the angst, and certain people don't communicate properly, where Westeros is basically the UK just with Westerosi names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 00:57:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1709147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InTheLoft/pseuds/InTheLoft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes he wonders what it would be like to fly. Sometimes he goes up to the pier and leans over the railings and idly scratches at the paint (light blue, the same shade as Sansa Stark’s eyes) and watches the water, and wonders what it would be like to fly. </p>
<p>But only sometimes, because, you see, there’s a boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Flying

**Author's Note:**

> So I started writing this a year ago, lost it, found it again and completely re-did it. I'm quite proud of it - but that's probably thanks to my wonderful beta so thank you Howie (waves). Anyway - WARNINGS! for an abusive relationship, nothing explicit and nothing like the canon, but it is there and is part of the plot.

**The Art of Flying**

Sometimes he wonders what it would be like to fly. Normally it’s in the morning, when the sky is so blue, and it’s brisk outside – the sort of choppy weather where you have to wear a scarf but can get away without a coat. Sometimes he goes up to the pier and leans over the railings and idly scratches at the paint (light blue, the same shade as Sansa Stark’s eyes) and watches the water, and wonders what it would be like to fly.

But only sometimes, because, you see, there’s a boy.

Theon Greyjoy lives with his family in a house that was nice once, and calling them family is a bit of a stretch. Alannys died when he was six. He can’t remember much of her –she was small and frail, blonde and she always smelt faintly of roses. Balon never cared too much; he has two sons already, so the third’s a spare part, to be locked up in case of disaster. Asha wears leather and smokes cigarettes in the rain, and only smiles at Theon when she remembers. 

But there’s a boy. Or, maybe there’s a boy and his family. Theon isn’t in the habit of examining his feelings too closely, and his feelings are like threads that get tangled somewhere between the way Robb Stark’s mouth twists when he’s happy, and the fact that Sansa and Bran smile like that too. They’re a ramshackle, black and white and sepia family that look like they’ve been cut out of a postcard, all tousled curls and laughing eyes.

The problem is that Balon Greyjoy doesn’t like them. He tells Theon not to see them anymore and, well, Theon _does_ try. He sits next to Asha and her friends for lunch, and moves his chair next to Alys Karstark in English, and pretends he doesn’t see the way Robb and Jon look at him. He pretends for a whole two months, but it’s no good. He creeps back to them and their warmth and swallows all the things his father tells him.

The problem is Eddard Stark sitting down next to Theon every Tuesday evening to help with his Maths homework. The problem is Catelyn Stark asking whether he would prefer pasta or rice. The problem is arguments with Jon about whether The Smiths or Oasis is better. The problem is Sansa going shopping for his sister’s birthday present with him. The problem is Arya demanding that he come to see her dance recital on Wednesday. The problem is Bran falling asleep on his shoulder on New Year’s Eve. The problem is Rickon asking for Theon to tell the story, because he does the voices best. The problem is Robb Stark, and everything he does.

* * *

When they’re sixteen, Robb meets a girl. She’s shy and awkward, and it’s clear that he’s totally smitten with her. He brings her home one night when Theon’s there too, and sends her admiring looks all through dinner, and Theon really wants to hate her because, well, she wasn’t the first person to notice the way Robb’s hair sort of looks golden under the lights in the Starks’ kitchen, or how he smiles like it’s all for you, just for you, never mind how many people are in the room.

“He’s devastating,” says Alys, wisely, one lunch-time when she and Jon and Jon have joined them. Jon (Umber) frowns.   
“Devastating?”  
“Devastating,” says Alys. The Jons exchange looks, but Theon gets it. Robb Stark _is_ devastating. He looks like autumn, for one thing, and he’s brighter than this whole town, and Theon knows that one day he’ll up and leave, and that’ll be the end of everything, but that’s another thing he swallows down, because talking about it makes it real, brings it to the present, and the present is too golden to tarnish. So he just spoons up yoghurt and watches Robb talk to Jeyne Westerling on the other side of the lunch hall, and laughs with the other three when he trips over a chair on his way back.

He finds Jeyne Westerling out on the swings in the playground late after school one evening. He stayed behind for swimming, because even after all these years he still wants to fly even if the element has to change, and she’s just sitting there, with her bag by her feet, not even swinging, not doing anything, just sitting. He _really_ wants to hate her, but he’s already going over.   
“Jeyne,” he calls. She looks up, and smiles weakly.   
“Theon. What are you doing here?”  
“Swimming,” he explains, sitting down on the swing next to her. “You?”  
“Just – ” she says, and then she shrugs, and laughs, and shakes her head. “Nothing. I guess I lost track of time.” There’s a long pause, where neither of them look at each other, and Theon walks himself backwards on the swing a few paces, and lets himself get pulled forward again, and then she says, “I don’t want to go home.”  
“Why not?” he asks. She sighs, and rests her head against the swing chain.   
“My mother doesn’t like me dating Robb. You know?”

He does know. But he’s swallowed it, so it takes a deep breath and another few paces to answer.   
“Yeah,” he says. “I know.”  
“It’s – It’s funny,” she says, glancing at him. “’Cos most parents – I mean, if any other person in the _world_ brought _Robb Stark_ home as – as anything, boyfriend, best friend, whatever – I mean, you’d think they’d be over the moon.”  
“Does she want you to stop seeing him?” Theon asks, neutral as he can be.   
“Yeah,” Jeyne replies. “But I _really_ don’t want to.”

He wants to hate her. He wants to hate her so badly, but he looks at her, and he can tell that she cares about Robb Stark just as much as he does, and none of this is her fault. So he grins at her, a little tight, but it’s a start.   
“Have you tried this?” he asks. “Spin round on the swing so the chains get all tangled like – yeah, like that. And then kick off, it’s –”

She laughs as she spins round and round and round, her long braid whipping behind her, and she almost falls off as she jerks to a halt. She is pretty, he realises, as she continues to giggle, her breath misting in the air before her. She _is_ pretty. Not the sort of pretty that Theon would go for – she doesn’t blaze but she burns, soft and steady. Exactly the sort of person that women like Catelyn Stark would – _should –_ want their sons to fall for. She’s like cherry blossom, unburdened by corrupt family politics and the fact that all the Stark children frown in exactly the same way.

* * *

The golden-ness lasts until they’re seventeen – or at least, Theon and Robb and Jon Umber are seventeen, and Jon Stark and Alys and Jeyne are still waiting. Theon spends every May morning wishing he was flying away into the blue, blue sky, and every May afternoon half-asleep in the green, green grass in the Starks’ back garden. Robb’s always there, sometimes silent, mostly chattering, his voice blending in with the colours that whirl behind Theon’s eyelids. Jon joins them sometimes. Sansa too. Arya topples in once or twice. Rickon falls asleep on Robb’s chest one Friday. Bran sits in the willow tree a few feet away more often than not, reading. It never occurs to Theon to try and work out how those threads tangle. When the whole world’s asleep except him and Robb, what’s the point in wondering whether Theon wants the boy or his family?

The point comes in with the first May storm of the year. It starts raining when they’re coming home from school – hard, pellet-like droplets, and there’s a rumble of thunder from not that far away, and Theon’s house is closer, and Asha should be the only one there until Thursday, so they run up past the only Sunspear café in their drab little town, past the police station where Benjen Stark _isn’t_ on duty, and it feels surreal to have Robb Stark dripping rainwater on the front porch as Theon tries to fit his key into the lock. It sticks, and it takes both of them pushing at the front door for it to open.   
“Asha?” Theon calls, as they come in, drop their schoolbags down, and Robb pushes his sodden hair off his face like he doesn’t know what that does to Theon’s stomach.   
“She’s not here,” someone shouts from the kitchen. Theon barely has time to whirl on Robb, to see his friend’s face crease anxiously, before Balon Greyjoy has hobbled out, a cigarette held loose between his front teeth. Theon swallows. “What’s _he_ doing here?”  
“I’m sorry,” says Robb. “I’ll go.”  
“Yeah,” says Balon. “You will. And you won’t come back. And you’ll leave my son alone.”  
“Dad,” Theon tries, but Balon cuts him off.   
“You. You will put your fucking friend out, and then you will go to your room, and do your fucking homework. You get it?”  
“Dad, it’s pouring.”  
“So he can get wet.”  
“He’ll get ill.”  
“I don’t give,” says Balon, leaning in so he’s breathing cigarette smoke into their faces, “a shit whether he fucking _dies_ of it. Get that _Stark_ out of my house.”

Theon’s not sure what he says in reply to that. He knows it’s an insult. He thinks he might have mentioned his mother. He’s not sure, but he remembers Balon shouting, and he remembers something swinging at his face, except nothing hits him, because Robb has stepped in front of him, and actually _taken the blow_. He barely flinches, but Balon hit him in the mouth, and his lip’s split, and he’s bleeding, and, yeah, even Balon Greyjoy realises what he just did.

For a long moment, no one says anything. Then Robb wipes the blood away from the corner of his mouth, turns to Theon, beams, and says,   
“See you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow, Theon wakes up and he knows – he just _knows –_ that those threads can be tangled all they want, and it won’t stop the fact that he is in love with Robb Stark and all the stupid things he does. He’s _devastating._

And he continues to be devastating. The problem is that Jeyne Westerling thinks so too, and Robb _loves_ her, and Theon doesn’t even attempt to hate her anymore, because she looks like spring and she laughs when she’s nervous, and she makes Robb happy, right up until the day she gets accepted into Lannisport University – a big, prestigious college on the other side of the country. Robb, of course, is going to the same place his father went, up North, and Jon is going to join the police force, and Theon – Well. The point is, they sit down one evening, and they break up, because they’re still young, and are they ready to commit to a long-distance relationship after spending every day with each other for years? Robb handles it fairly well. He spends the weekend right afterwards sitting at home with Sansa, eating ice cream and watching Disney films, but he’s up again on Monday, ringing Theon at some ungodly hour to see what he’s up to, which is classic Robb Stark behaviour. Robb is annoyingly vocal when he’s happy; when he’s not he just acts like there’s nothing wrong.

When September comes around again, Jeyne and Alys pack off to Lannisport, Jon moves into an apartment in the city, rooming with some guy he met in a comic book store, the _other_ Jon (Umber) stays in town to take over his father’s business, and Robb and Theon go north. Robb studies journalism, and Theon art, in a ‘free-thinking’ college only a few miles away from Robb’s. It’s not the most glamorous course, but it’s fun, and the teacher seems to think he’s _good_ , which is amazing in itself, because Theon had never really considered himself talented at all. He goes back to Winterfell with Robb for Christmas, and Sansa begs him to sketch her, so he does, and then thinks that, hey, maybe that’s not such a bad idea.

Because how could Theon possibly repay the years of kindness that Eddard and Catelyn have given him? There’s absolutely no way – but there’s a way to let them know how much it meant to him. So he grabs his sketchbook, and he fills pages of it with pictures of their family in all their dark and russet glory. Then Sansa helps him bind it up nicely, and Robb helps him wrap it, and when he presents it to Cat on Christmas Day, he thinks she might tear up a little bit.

Everything’s perfect for a little while, and then it’s not.

They’ve taken the dogs out, and Theon is somehow given charge of Bran and Rickon, and he’s still not sure how that happened, and he’s still not sure how what happened next happened – but one moment they’re standing on the zebra crossing, laughing about something, and the next Summer’s torn away and then Bran’s shot after him, and then there’s a horn blaring and Theon is left on the side of the road as Robb’s little brother flies through the air and hits the tarmac with a crack.

In the hospital, no one talks. Eddard paces, Catelyn sits with her fists clenched, Sansa cries and Arya puts her head on her sister’s lap, and Rickon curls up on a chair with scared eyes, and Robb doesn’t look at Theon and Theon has never wanted anything as much as he wants it to be him in that hospital bed and not Bran Stark.

The nurse comes in, and everyone stands up, moves towards her. Bran’s alive – he’s not going to die – but he’s never going to walk again, either, and it’s _all Theon’s fault_ , and three hours later, Robb Stark is coming towards him with a face like thunder and he says,   
“I really think you should go.”

And Theon does. He flees, because he’s a coward, and he never wants to fly again, not after Bran did, not after he fell. It turns out that flying _is_ falling, really, and that’s what Theon’s doing now. He’s falling down, down, down, and for once, Robb Stark’s not there to catch him, because Robb Stark’s the one who pushed him over the edge. Theon retreats to the safety of art school, and he gets Sansa’s weekly email updating him on how Bran’s doing, assuring him that nobody blames him, but eventually they stop because Theon stops replying. The rest of the year passes without any contact from any of the Starks, and Theon meets a guy. He’s tall – probably the same height as Robb – and his hair is straight – Robb’s was curly – and dark – Robb’s was red – and his eyes are grey – Robb’s were blue – and he’s called Ramsay, and he invites Theon out for drinks one night.

They get serious pretty fast. That’s the problem, because Theon doesn’t have a chance to realise that Ramsay Bolton is a psychopath. By the time they’re official, he hasn’t spoken to a Stark for over a year. He saw Robb in town once or twice (six times, he counted). He thinks he saw the back of Jon’s head when he was in a pub back home over the summer. He definitely saw Bran and Jojen Reed going down the high street that same week, but how could he approach _Bran Stark_ after what he did?

But Ramsay Bolton is a psychopath. He starts hitting Theon about a month into their relationship. He starts emotionally blackmailing him about two weeks later. Theon doesn’t have anyone to tell anyway, so he just lets him. One of Ramsay’s ex-boyfriends comes to find him during the summer term to warn him. Theon already knows, but he finds himself assuring him that they’re fine, that he’s fine.

It’s the last day of term, and Ramsay’s about to graduate, and he gets really drunk, and he practically throws Theon downstairs. Then he says, shouts, something – Theon doesn’t know what, he’s too busy floating in and out of consciousness – and the front door slams. Theon Greyjoy has _one_ ounce of caring left, and that ounce is the memory of Robb Stark stepping in front of Balon’s fist when they were seventeen. He reaches into his pocket, ignoring the nausea that the movement causes. He pulls out his phone, and taps the emergency contact.

He never remembers setting one, and he certainly never remembers choosing Robb Stark, but it’s definitely him who answers.  
“Hello?”  
“Robb,” says Theon, thickly.   
“Theon?”  
“Robb, I’m – I need – Help.”  
“Theon?”  
“I’m at – I’m at –” He struggles to remember Ramsay’s address, and then he tells Robb, and then Robb says,   
“Okay.”

And hangs up.

Twenty minutes later, a very worried looking Robb Stark bursts in through the door and everything goes blue.

* * *

He dreams that he’s flying. High up above the town that they grew up in. He dreams that he can see he’s six years old, going up to six year old Robb Stark and he dreams that the sixteen year old Robb Stark is talking to him about a girl. He dreams that the seventeen year old Robb Stark is stepping in front of his father’s fist. He dreams of Robb’s voice, saying the same word over and over again. _Theon_. He dreams of Robb looking at him like he’s the worst person in the world. He dreams of twelve year old Robb Stark flying through the air, to hit the ground with a crack, and then he dreams that Robb Stark (or is it Bran?) is flatlining in a hospital bed. (Or is it him?)

_Theon_.

He wakes.

Robb Stark is asleep in the chair next to his bed. There’s a half written essay on the ground by him, and a lot of ‘ _Get Well Soon!’_ cards on the dresser. Theon lies still for a long while, trying to get back to sleep, but he can’t. He’s not sure how long he’s been out of it. He’s not sure if he’s awake. He reaches over and picks up the cards, sorts through them.

They’re all signed by various members of the Stark family, and several contain a postscript begging him to call them, and, wow, even _Asha_ sent something – a scrap of white card folded over and scrawled on, but it’s the thought that counts.

He gets out of hospital two weeks later, and it’s already summer. Robb drives him back home. They travel almost in silence, but it’s not awkward, not really. Sometimes Theon catches Robb looking at him, and sometimes Robb smiles shyly, and other times he flicks his gaze back to the road. When they pull into the town, Robb parks the car.   
“Do you want me to get out?”  
“Don’t be an arse Greyjoy.”  
“Sorry.”  
“No, no I’m sorry. I’ve been so stupid. I – I got that call, and I – I have never been so scared in all my life. Okay, maybe once before. But – shit, Theon, you were so – You were barely breathing, and all I could think was _this is my best friend, and he doesn’t know how much he means to me_. You didn’t hurt Bran. I was so angry though. He’s my baby brother Theon, you get it. You probably felt the same. Then I was ashamed, because – because – ”  
“Oh shut up Stark,” says Theon, weakly. Robb throws him a sidelong glance. It’s half embarrassed, half relieved.   
“Are you coming home?”

He doesn’t have to specify what home is. Home is where it’s always been.

“If you lot’ll have me back,” says Theon. Robb starts the engine.

Catelyn and Sansa have already made up his old bed, and Jon answers the door when Robb rings the bell.   
“Hello stranger,” he says.   
“Let us in you prat,” says Robb, elbowing him out of the way. Jon flicks the back of his head as he passes, and turns to Theon.   
“Alright mate?”  
“I’m okay.”   
“I guess I kinda screwed up not calling you then?” Jon says. He meets Theon’s eye, but Theon sort of wishes he wouldn’t.   
“No,” he says. “No, I mean, I should have – ”  
“I was just – Bran –”  
“Don’t use _me_ as an excuse for you two being losers,” Bran shouts from the kitchen.   
“It’s okay Jon, seriously,” Theon says, and Jon grins, and makes to follow Robb upstairs, but Theon tugs him back. “Does – Does he –?”

Jon just rolls his eyes at him.

* * *

When Theon wakes the next morning, the whole house is already up. He can hear Arya singing tunelessly in the shower upstairs, and muffled shouting from downstairs, and Jon’s music playing in the room next door. He gets up and dresses, quickly. It’s hard with his arm in a sling, and he’s fairly sure that his shirt is buttoned up wrong somewhere, but he can’t see it. When he gets to the bottom of the stairs, it’s to find Catelyn and Eddard on their way out. 

“They’re having breakfast dear,” says Cat, and they smile at him, and leave. Theon makes his way to the kitchen. The whole house has been reorganised so that Bran’s bedroom is on the ground floor, but the kitchen is in the same place, and all six of them are sat around the table, chattering about college. When Theon slides into the space they left for him, Sansa turns to fill him in as he tries to pour cereal one-handed.   
“So I’m going to Lannisport next year. I got full scholarship, I am _so_ excited, I’m going to study Linguistics, and they have _such_ a good department for it, don’t they?”  
“That’s what I’ve heard,” he mumbles, when a reply seems to be what she wants.   
“Alys and Jeyne go to Lannisport – Here, Theon, let me do that.” Robb leans over to take the cereal box away from him. “They go to Lannisport. Do you want me to ask them to talk to you about it?”  
“Ah, yeah, that’d be great,” Sansa beams. “They have really good extracurricular activities, don’t they?”  
“Probably,” says Robb, capping the milk bottle and sitting back up. Theon hopes that the _thank you_ comes across in his smile. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, dearest sister, but we don’t _go_ to Lannisport.”  
“Oh, so _she’s_ your dearest sister?” Arya snaps, around a mouthful of buttered toast.   
“Well _she_ doesn’t use up all the hot water.”  
“I like long showers!”  
“So take them _last_!”  
“Girls,” says Jon, and both Arya and Robb look insulted. “Don’t argue.”  
“We both know that Arya wanted to clean up for her boyfriend,” Sansa adds.   
“ _Boyfriend_?” Rickon shrieks.  
“You have a boyfriend?” Theon asks, surprised.   
“I do not have a boyfriend!” Arya gasps.   
“He is totally your boyfriend,” Sansa grins.  
“No he’s not, oh my God Sansa, shut up. I don’t have a boyfriend,” she says, to Theon. He raises his eyebrows. “Urgh, all of you shut up, you’re crap and I hate you.”

The rest of the morning passes like that, and then the rest of the day, and then the rest of the week. On Saturday, Robb wakes Theon up by knocking loudly and repetitively on his door.   
“I’m going out,” he says, cheerily, when Theon opens it. “Do you want to come?”  
“I’m not dressed…”  
“Well get dressed then.”  
“Where are you going?”  
“I am dropping Sansa off at the cinema, taking Arya to her dance class and Bran is helping out at the _library_. Mum and Dad are out so I’m basically being a taxi driver for the day and would really like some company.”

He’s devastating.

“Sure,” says Theon. “Give me twenty minutes?”  
“Grand,” says Robb.

The problem, as Theon has come to realise, is that he doesn’t _want_ to get over Robb Stark. He’s not sure if he’s even trying. And after Ramsay – after that – Robb Stark is safe. He’s bright and warm and he doesn’t have murderous urges. Theon dated several people throughout secondary school. They were all blue eyed, or red haired, and none of them lasted very long.

Somewhere in August, Sansa offers to set him up with her friend Jeyne Poole who, apparently, has been harbouring a crush for years.   
“No,” he says, apologetically. “I think I just want to be alone for a bit.”  
“Alright Theon,” says Sansa. “Tell me if you change your mind.”

He wonders if she knows that she smiles like her oldest brother.

Late in the holiday, Ned approaches him.   
“Theon,” he says, grimly. “I’m not going to make you do it if you don’t want to, but I would _strongly_ advise that you report Ramsay Bolton to the police.”  
“Can I?” asks Theon. “I’ve left it so long now.” He doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want this lovely, golden summer to be corrupted by talk of Ramsay Bolton. He knows that the Starks know, and he knows that they’ve deliberately been avoiding the subject for him, and he knows that it’s just what he needed.   
“Of course you can. And we’ll all be right behind you if you decide to press charges. But Theon, even if you don’t, you have to inform the school.”  
“I can’t,” says Theon. For the first time in eight weeks, he’s beginning to feel sick, like Ramsay Bolton’s stood over his shoulder. “He’s a year older. I mean, he’s already graduated.”  
“Do you want to tell the police?”  
“Can – Can I think about it?”  
“Of course,” says Ned, but it’s clear that he doesn’t like it. He probably wanted Theon to report it before he left the hospital. He probably asked Robb to talk to him about it. The thought makes him irrationally angry. He goes into town that evening, gets the bus on his own, and stands on the pier watching the water. The sea is deep blue. It doesn’t make Theon want to fly. It makes him feel very small, though, small and utterly insignificant. On the way home, he meets Asha, coming out of the grocer’s. She almost does a double take when she sees him.  
“Theon?”  
“Asha.”  
“Fuck. Did you not get any of my calls?”  
“No?”  
“I’ve been ringing you and ringing you – I rang your apartment twice, and some bloke picked up, Roman or Ramsay or something ridiculous, said he’d give you the message?”  
“What message?”  
“That I’ve been calling you, you arse. Listen, do you want to go get a beer? Or a coffee?”  
“What, now?”  
“Yes.”  
“Beer,” says Theon, immediately. “If I have to talk to you.”  
“Jerk,” she says, but there’s a smile pressing at the corners of her mouth. “The Drowned God, then?”  
“Sure.”

They fall into step, and Theon tries to ignore how surreal it is, that he’s with his sister, that his sister’s been trying to contact him. Asha finds them a booth in the Drowned God, a dingy pub by the port that their family tends to frequent. It’s blissfully empty now, though. Asha goes up to the bar to order, and when she returns with two large pints, they both take long pulls before talking again.   
“If you were trying to reach me,” Theon says, wiping froth away from his upper lip, “why didn’t you just ring the Starks?”  
“I didn’t know if you were talking to them or not. Last February I bumped into the – Not the one you like, the other one – the dark one, what’s his name?”  
“Jon,” says Theon, and then frowns. “Wait, the one I _like_?”  
“I bumped into Jon,” Asha continues, ignoring him. “And asked him how you were, because you know, you’re a pretentious douchebag who’s gone off to art school and is too high and mighty to keep in touch with his old sister back home. He said he hadn’t talked to you in months. Why?”  
“The one I like?” Theon repeats. He decides to ignore Asha’s dig about art school. It’s what his whole family thinks. At least she’s being good humoured about it. She rolls her eyes at him.   
“Yes, Theon, the one you like.”  
“What do you mean, the one I like? Like, the one I _like_ -like?”  
“Fucking hell, what are you? Twelve? _Like-like_?”  
“Shut up,” he says.   
“You have a thing for the oldest. It’s no big deal Theon, don’t worry, I’m not judging. I’m just _saying_.”  
“But don’t say!” he says, hoarsely. “You can’t tell _anyone._ It’s not even true,” he adds. She just picks up her pint again.   
“Yeah, _okay_. Whatever. What’ve you been up to? Tell me, go on.”  
“I-” he says, pathetically. It’s not that he can’t explain it. He _can_ explain it, the whole sorry mess he got himself into. It’s that Asha is asking. It’s that Asha is sitting in a pub with him, wanting to know what the matter is. He finds himself telling her the whole story, and she’s actually quite a good listener, rarely interrupting. When he’s done, she goes up to order him another pint, and then she says, awkwardly,

“Look, is this the part where we hug or shit? Because I’m not up for that.”  
“Fuck no,” says Theon, alarmed. They settle for exchanging numbers again, and then Asha claps him on the back.   
“Whenever you’re in town, yeah? This was fun. Apart from the part where you confessed your life story, you know.”  
“And if you fancy visiting me at art school,” he offers.   
“Yeah, don’t get your hopes up,” she deadpans. “I’ll see you around, Theon.”

* * *

The return to school isn’t as bad as Theon thought it would be. There are a lot of questions about his hand, mainly from teachers who want to know why he can’t hold a paintbrush properly. By November, Theon’s gone to the local police station to file a report against Ramsay Bolton. He’s not local, thank God, so it’ll take some time to do anything about it, but he’s done his part now. He returns to Winterfell for Christmas, meets up with Asha twice, and kisses Jeyne Poole under the mistletoe on the Starks’ porch. She’s a nice girl, but it’s never going to go anywhere, not when Robb Stark still comes up to him and presses a slightly intoxicated kiss to his cheek. 

“You’re pissed,” Theon says, happily. Robb laughs into Theon’s shoulder.   
“No, _Jon_ ’s pissed.”

Jon is stood with his red-haired girlfriend on the other side of the room. They’re sort of dancing, and sort of snogging, and Catelyn keeps sending them viciously disapproving looks from the doorway where she’s talking to one of her friends. Sansa’s boyfriend and his family came for the party. Joffrey Baratheon is the absolute worst, but Sansa is totally smitten. Theon can tell that Robb hates him, but he won’t say anything – of course he won’t, he’s Robb Stark. Eddard is talking to Joffrey’s father – and Robert Baratheon did not age well. He looks like the sort of guy who was gorgeous in his youth, and faded out of it. Next to him, Ned looks like a sex god.

Okay, maybe Theon’s a tiny bit pissed too.   
  
“How much longer do we have to be here?” Robb asks.   
“I dunno,” says Theon. “Do you want to go outside.”  
“You have great ideas,” Robb says, approvingly, and lets Theon half drag him into the kitchen, through the back door. Someone has strung up fairy lights and it’s freezing but lovely, like the garden’s enchanted. “It’s cold,” says Robb, wonderingly.   
“Well, yeah,” says Theon. “It’s always cold up here.”  
“Are you talking to your family again?” It’s such an apparently random question that it throws Theon for a moment.   
“Er,” he says, when he understands. “I’m – I’m talking to Asha.”  
“How is she?”  
“She’s good,” Theon admits. “It’s weird. We never got on this well when we lived in the same house, you know? But now that we’re spending most of our time miles away from each other… I dunno. I guess we’re friends now or something.”  
“It’s always good to be friends with your siblings,” Robb says, seriously.

Theon considers telling him that the relationship between most of the Stark siblings is actually not normal, most siblings do not voluntarily go out of their way to make time for each other – most siblings are not each other’s best friends. But he doesn’t, because who is Theon to tell anybody how to be a _family_ when he comes from the most screwed up one in Westeros. The conversation has died, and Robb has sat down on the ice compacted ground – no, sorry, he’s _lain_ down.

“You are drunk!” Theon laughs, triumphant. Robb makes an irritated sound.   
“Come,” he demands, and tugs Theon down to join him. It’s absolutely freezing, and Theon’s fairly sure that his hair is sticking to the grass, but Robb’s body is warm and close, and this – this, at last, feels like things were before. “I always miss this,” Robb says, quietly. “When I’m at school. I miss just doing absolutely nothing with you. And I miss Mum’s cooking.”  
“It’s gotta be quiet round here with Sansa gone,” Theon says, hoping against hope that Robb isn’t looking at him and can’t see how red his face has gone, despite the chill. “Only three kids left.”  
“Yeah,” Robb says. His breath mists in the air above him. “But Rickon’s the loudest of all of us, and Bran’s friends are _always_ round, and Arya – okay, Arya’s never here anyway. I miss them at school.”  
“I do too.” Theon’s surprised to hear the words come out of his mouth. He’s never really been that vocal about his attachment to the Stark family. He sort of assumed it was obvious.   
“I missed you,” says Robb. He _is_ looking now, Theon can feel it. “I missed you when we weren’t talking. I kept, like, thinking things? And you weren’t there to think them with me. Do you know what I mean?”  
“Yeah,” Theon replies. He stays staring resolutely up at the sky, and the stars, and the fairy lights, until they blur and fracture before his eyes. When he blinks and shakes his head to clear it, there’s a moment where everything is the same colour as Robb Stark’s hair. “I’m really tired,” he says. “I’m gonna go inside. You coming?”  
“Er,” says Robb. “Yeah. Okay. Probably should.”

* * *

 

The rest of the school year passes quickly. Then it’s summer, and Theon’s about to graduate. They all come down – Ned, Cat, Jon, Arya, Bran, Rickon - Sansa’s busy at the other end of the country but she sends her best wishes - and Robb appears wild eyed and covered in ink for the actual graduating part, and disappears about ten minutes after it’s over, after hugging Theon and giving him a hundred apologies for leaving.

Even Asha comes. She struts in through the gates two minutes before it begins, dressed in her old leather jacket and combat boots, and she sits in the back row smoking, but when Theon goes up to receive his certificate she whoops obnoxiously loudly for him. Less than a week later, it’s Robb’s turn, and Jeyne Westerling comes up for that. She slides into the seat next to Theon.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make yours,” she says, after they’ve exchanged greetings. “I was still at Lannisport. I graduated two days ago, and thought I might as well come up for this, considering the amount of emails he’s sent me about his course. How did yours go?”  
“It was good,” says Theon, evasively. “I dunno what I’m going to do with my degree though.”  
“What about illustrations?” she suggests. “I mean, that picture of Sansa was _brilliant_.”  
“You saw it?”  
“She’s got it framed in her dorm room,” she explains, with a wry smile. “Same university. I bumped into her on her first day. She’s lovely, isn’t she? Her boyfriend’s a – a –”  
“Prick?” he offers.  
“Exactly.”

Robb flies over as soon as it’s over, throwing his arms around both of them.   
“There are people you have to meet, come on, mainly Theon, no ‘fence Jeyne.”  
“None taken,” she laughs. “Actually, I think I saw someone I know – I’ll catch up with you later?”  
“See you then,” he agrees, and drags Theon over a few rows, tapping a guy with curly hair on the shoulder. “Loras. This is Theon, Theon, Loras Tyrell.”  
“Well obviously,” says Loras, giving Theon what feels like an appraising once-over. “Hello.”  
“Hi?” says Theon, slowly.   
“Sorry,” says Loras, not sounding sorry at all. “Robb’s told me a lot about you. And he has photos of you.”  
“Oh my God, no,” says Robb, sounding scandalised and shooting Loras an uncharacteristically dirty look. “I have photos of my family, and Theon is in them – I don’t just have photos of you, that would be really weird.”  
“ _He does_ ,” Loras mouths, when Robb turns to see who’s calling him. Theon pretends he doesn’t feel the flush creeping up his cheeks. “So, art school, huh? That must be nice. Robb’s got some of the things you’ve done – you’re really good. Are you going to do it professionally?”   
“Um,” says Theon. “I don’t – I don’t know yet.”  
“Loras has had his Master Plan since he was six. I’m fairly sure it involves taking over the world.” Robb explains, briefly. “Hang on, I’ll be right back.”

“So you study journalism too?” Theon ventures. “Or… politics?”   
“Ha,” says Loras. “No, I study journalism. Though I want to write travel pieces and stuff, and have no intention of taking over the world for _at least_ ten years. How long have you two known each other?”  
“Since primary school,” Theon tells him. “I stole a crayon off Jon, his twin, you know. Robb waged war against me, we ate lunch in the sandbox. How do you know him?”   
“We roomed together last year. I knew him before that – I think we had some classes together in the first term or something. He’s a really decent guy. Hot as hell as well – it’s a rare and winning combination. I thought I might try and set him up with my sister, but I guess the age difference could mean long-distance relationshipsuntil Marge both graduate or something and I don’t know if she’d agree. Oh, look, they’re waving at you. Nice to meet you Theon!”

And then he’s gone, pushing through the crowds towards a group of people with the same curls and slender frame. Theon turns and moves back towards the Starks, falters for a heartbeat refusing to acknowledge the idea that Robb Stark talks about him and the thought of eyes so blue you could fly in them and never fall, and the way that Robb looks now, coloured by achievement and happiness. Then he dodges past Arya and joins Robb and Jeyne and another of Robb’s friends who is also frustratingly attractive – there’s evidently something in the water – and has the same reaction to being introduced to Theon as Loras Tyrell did.

* * *

Theon remains unemployed for several months after Robb and Jon. Jon gets a job first, of course, coming home one evening as a police officer in the uniform and everything, except he’s working in the city, not in the town that they grew up in. Then Robb gets hired by a local magazine, and catapults upwards, so that by the time the next summer rolls around, he’s preparing for an interview with a national newspaper. By Christmas, both of them are installed in the city, and Theon’s still holed up in his poky apartment near _The Drowned God_ , where he works almost every day and comes home stinking like beer and vomit. The only perk is that he sees Asha nearly every day, and she gives him all the news about Balon, and Rodrik and Manon, that no one else saw fit to tell him. On Boxing Day, as he treks down to the pub, he hears a woman calling his name. It’s Alys Karstark charging down the road, her dark hair tucked under a striped beanie that makes her look like Wally’s sister. 

“Hey,” she says, falling into step beside him. “What’s up with you?”  
“I work here,” Theon says, significantly. Alys gives the place a once over and frowns.  
“Totally not worth it. So I saw Jeyne a few days ago – Westerling – and she was telling me about Jon and Robb and _you,_ and how utterly amazeballs at art you are and so now I’m thinking that it’s a shame you’re stuck here, because this place looks shit, no offence dear –”  
“None taken.”  
“And I have had this brilliant idea, and you might want to kiss me after you hear it, but I don’t want you to, because I’m taken.”  
“Okay,” says Theon, slowly. “Go.”

She tells him, and he laughs, and shakes his head, and goes to work, but as he’s mopping up vomit from the floor of the toilet, he thinks about it again, and two days later he’s got her number off Jon. She answers on the second ring, sounding breathless.  
“Hey!”  
“When’s that interview?”  
“ _Ha_!” she says, and proceeds to cackle for a minute or two, before giving him the time and place.

* * *

 

Jon and Robb come up for New Year’s.Jon looks great, Robb looks – well, Robb looks as awful as possible. It doesn’t really kick in the moment he arrives, when he kisses his mum’s cheek and claps Theon on the back and gives Sansa a one armed hug and spends an hour or so talking to each of them, but the next morning he’s pale and drawn and he doesn’t eat much, which in itself is unusual. Nobody asks _him_ about it, not at first, but Theon hears Ned and Cat whispering about their eldest after breakfast one morning, and Jon and Arya wear equally worried expressions when Robb excuses himself at quarter past eight to go to bed.

“Do you know what it is?” Catelyn asks, three days later. She’s addressing Jon and Theon – she called them into Ned’s study after lunch. “What’s wrong with him?”  
“I have no idea,” Jon says, honestly. “He seemed fine up – up until we got here, actually. I don’t know what it is. Maybe he just doesn’t want to go back to work.”  
“But I thought he loved it,” Cat said. “I just don’t understand.” They both turn to look at Theon.  
“I haven’t really talked to him,” Theon admits, and, okay, that _is_ weird, because Theon and Robb spend most of their time together – or at least, they used to. “We’ve been in contact since he left but –no, I don’t know.”  
“Do you think he’d talk to me?” Cat asks. She sounds anxious, and her fingers are threading together and pulling apart, exactly the same way Robb’s do when he’s nervous about something.   
“Maybe,” Jon says. “I’ll call his friends from work if you want, I’ve met some of them. Maybe they know.”  
“And I’ll ask Jeyne,” Theon adds, because they’re not dating but she’s been one of Robb’s closest confidantes since they were sixteen. They arrange a meeting in the Sunspear café near his old house for the same afternoon.

She arrives five minutes late, red faced and bundled up.   
“Sorry!” she says, slipping into the chair opposite Theon. “The bus was late. What did you want to talk to me about?”  
“Robb,” Theon says. He sees no point in beating around the bush – Robb Stark has always been the thing that they have in common. Her face creases immediately.   
“What about Robb?”  
“He’s acting strange. Not even _sad_. I mean, when he’s sad he just acts really happy, doesn’t he?”  
“Yes,” Jeyne agrees, instantly. “Maybe he’s angry about something then?”  
“No,” Theon shakes his head. He knows what Robb Stark looks like when he’s angry too, and it’s not like this. “He doesn’t really do anything anymore. No, I mean, he does. But it’s all on his own.”  
“Why?” Jeyne asks, and then flicks her eyes upwards. “Stupid question, sorry. When did it start?”  
“When he came back home. That’s what Jon thinks anyway.” He watches her frown. “It’s weird, isn’t it?”  
“Very,” she agrees. “He _loves_ this place, and his family. Why would coming back make him so – like that?”  
“I don’t know,” Theon sighs. He presses his fingertips into his temples, trying to massage away the headache he can feel building in.   
“I’ll keep thinking – Oh,” she says. She was halfway out of her seat, but she drops back down. “Oh, I wonder.”  
“You wonder what?” he asks, tiredly.   
“Ooh, Theon, I’m sorry but I don’t think I can say. Not if it’s making Robb upset. I don’t even know if I’m right – look, I’m going to call him now, and see if I can help. I have to go, I _am_ sorry!”  
“Jeyne!” he cries, but she’s already gone.

* * *

She texts him the next day – ‘meeting him for lunch i’ll text you later :)’

But she doesn’t, and her phone goes straight to answerphone when he tries calling (three times) so he gives up and tries Robb. He goes straight to answerphone as well, and Jon hasn’t seen him since the morning and Alys hasn’t seen either of them for a week. Maybe Theon’s overreacting but he’s never been entirely lucid when it comes to Robb Stark, and he’s on the verge of Googling one of Robb’s other friends – Jon Umber, Loras Tyrell, Arianne Martell, Dacey Mormont, _anyone_ – when Sansa pokes her head round his bedroom door and says,  
“Jon says you’re looking for Robb. I just spoke to him – he’s on his way home.”

So Theon goes to sit on the front steps and wait for him, which seems entirely rational at the time, given that Robb is clearly ignoring his messages, but when he sees Robb actually coming up the road he wonders whether he has time to sneak back inside before he’s noticed. But Robb’s already raised a hand in greeting and Theon stands up to meet him.  
  
“Hi,” says Robb, drawing to a halt. “You okay?”  
“Shut up,” says Theon, and then, “what’s wrong? And don’t say it’s nothing because I _know_ you, Robb Stark, and you _never_ get like this.”  
“Did you know that you always use my full name when you’re angry with me?” Robb asks. He sounds half amused and half exhausted.   
“No,” says Theon, blindsided. From inside the house, a dog barks – he thinks it’s Nymeria.   
“And when you don’t know what’s going on you do that look. Where your eyes go all wide, and your hands go into your pockets. You’re doing it now.”  
“Robb,” says Theon, grimly, attempting to bring the conversation back round.   
“And when you’re happy you smile at your chest. You look down and you smile.”  
“I do not.”  
“Yes you do. And when you’re sad you get sleepy. And when you’re drunk you get sleepy as well – actually you spend a lot of time asleep. And sometimes, when we’re all doing something, you know, me and you and my family, whatever it is, you’ve done it at the cinema before, you glance at Bran, and you get this look all over you, and I don’t know what it is, but I wish you wouldn’t. When we were ten – or nine, no ten – we had to write this essay, and you wrote yours about flying. Mum has it, you know. I found it. That’s what you look like. You look like you want to fly away.”  
“Robb,” Theon says, but his voice catches, and he stands up, walking backwards until he hits the door and then reaching for the bell.  
“Don’t,” says Robb. His voice is very quiet and Theon wouldn’t have heard it if he hadn’t been waiting for it. “Please.”  
“Robb,” says Theon, again. “What’s wrong?”

Robb just looks at him. The sun is setting behind him, outlining him in light and casting him in shadow. His hair is sticking up at the back, red-gold and tufty, and his eyes are the same shade of blue as the water where it gets shallow by the pier on a Saturday morning. Theon swallows.   
“Do you remember,” he asks, and he prays to any gods that exist – fuck, the _Drowned God_ if necessary – that there aren’t any Starks listening in. “We were seventeen, I think. It was raining, and my house was closer, and we thought Asha would be the only one in. But my dad was there and I can’t even remember what I said now, but he got so mad. I’ve never seen anyone that mad before. He’s never been that angry since. He was going to hit me, but you got in the way.”  
“I told my mum that I walked into a tree,” Robb whispers.

And then he’s moved forwards and they’re kissing. Theon stumbles backwards, hits the door with a _thump_ and his heart is matching it in his chest, going so fast it might break out and be trapped between them forever.

The door opens. Theon almost falls backwards but Robb’s still holding him, determinedly not meeting his eyes.   
“Oh,” says Ned. “I thought someone knocked. Well. Well, carry on.”

And he shuts the door. They hear him call ‘ _Cat!’_ and Robb groans, drops his head to the crook of Theon’s shoulder, tightening his arms around his waist. But only for a moment, because he’s several steps away before Theon can do anything about it, looking torn between horror and expectation.  
“I’m – shit, I’m sorry, I’m – would you believe me if I told you I was drunk?”  
“No,” says Theon. “No, but it’s about time.”  
“About time.” Robb repeats and Theon laughs and reaches out to pull him back.

(Sometimes, Theon Greyjoy wonders what it would be like to fly. But not very often anymore, because, you see, there’s a boy.)


End file.
